


crown and anchor me

by tosca1390



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is where it starts, and turns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crown and anchor me

**Author's Note:**

> AU in canon from the conversation in Mamoru's apartment in the first arc. 
> 
> For C, for her birthday. <3

*

 

The spray of the fountain is cool on her skin. Usagi curls her fingers around the locket, warm and familiar against her skin, and keeps her eyes on Mamoru, the mystery that he is. 

Luna has slunk off to wherever she goes – Usagi really doesn’t know, after all of this – and she’s grateful in a sense, for the time and space alone. It still doesn’t feel real, the evening hours lost in his apartment, the silhouette of him in the doorway – she thinks of his gaze on hers, standing together in the sunset, and she flushes. 

His mouth curls, and she thinks he knows, he _knows_ –

“Usagi,” he says, voice low and light. Her name sounds nice on his lips, as if he is tasting it. As if it should be something else – 

The thought stirs, and settles. She bites the inside of her lip, tilting her head. “Yes?”

Mamoru stands, uneasily she thinks, his briefcase held in front of him like a shield. There is a barrier he keeps around himself at all times, she knows. She feels it just as she feels the strange changes of power and self in her own body, dreams and words that aren’t hers yet are, and how she _knows_ him, as she thinks she always has. It’s momentous in the strangest smallest ways. 

“I’d like – I’d like to –“

And suddenly he is hardly the suave masked man of nights and strange dreams. Here and now, he is just a boy, lost and awkward. She smiles, her heart in her throat. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” he asks at last, gaze set and serious behind his glasses. 

Her fingers tighten around the locket. “Yes,” she says, smiling brightly, no hesitation whatsoever. 

This is where it starts, and turns. 

 

*

 

Usagi goes through the day holding her breath, waiting for something to go wrong. There is always an attack, always a meeting, always a suspicion; but Luna settles down to sleep at the foot of her bed with nothing but a curious bright gaze and a wrinkle of her tiny pink nose. 

She waits until the cat is well asleep for her late afternoon nap before she moves from her desk, abandoning math homework that she doesn’t fathom anyway, towards the sliding doors of her closet. Rocking back on her heels, she flicks nervous fingers through her hangers, trying, _trying_ to find something pretty, and easy. There are still moments when she feels so young, despite the scars on her palms and the taste of blood lingering on her mouth. 

Tonight, she does not want to be young. 

In the end, it is a black dress dropped with polka dots, and puffed sleeves; it’s one of her favorites, a new purchase. She slips a cardigan on, white and soft, to keep the spring chill off her skin. The locket remains in her purse, with her wallet, and lip gloss; she is a simple girl, after all. 

Her mother says nothing when she walks past the kitchen, waving her goodbyes, but there is a smile, and Usagi can feel the flush on her throat. Is she so transparent? She doesn’t know whether that will serve her well tonight, but it’s out of her hands. Her father reads his papers, and sits; the television is on in the living room, where her brother lingers. It is one of those times when she feels very separate from them all; when she wonders what she truly is. 

The night is cool as she steps outside onto the front step; her hair slides at her calves and ankles with the breeze. There is a shadow at the front gate, and there he is, waiting; he leans against a motorcycle and that makes her smile, makes the pulse at her wrists jump. It’s another facet to him – a boy with a bike. 

“Is it a rental?” she teases, to hide her flush. 

Mamoru smiles, straightening to a stand. The leather jacket is unzipped, dark against the white of his button-down shirt. She curls her fingers into her skirt, tilting her head back as she approaches him. 

“All mine,” he says, handing her the helmet. 

She takes it in hand, squinting at the shiny black surface. “Stickler for safety, huh?” she murmurs. 

“Yours, yeah,” he says, slow and warm. 

She tips her head back up, stomach fluttering. There is something here, beyond lost memories and shared battles and their blood on each others’ fingertips, past masks and strange bursts of power; she feels the same as she did when they sat together on the bus, flushing at one another and watching his profile in the afternoon light. It’s always been deeper than coincidental run-ins and the promise of memories. 

“I want yours, too,” she says quietly, the flush high on her throat. 

Mamoru smoothes his hand over her elbow. His skin is warm through her sweater. “Ready?”

She smiles, and nods. It’s an easy thing, to slip the helmet on. Her hair is loose tonight, out of the usual buns. She feels lighter, different; even with the strange circumstances enveloping them, she feels secure, comfortable. There is something familiar about all this, the guises and surprises. So when she slides behind him on the motorcycle and wraps her arms around his waist, it’s perfectly natural. She feels perfectly safe. 

His fingers graze her hands, just before he turns on the engine, and she thinks he might feel the same.

 

*

 

There are no nerves, sitting across from him with plates of sushi and melting candles between them. It’s a small restaurant, dim and quiet; she feels older here than she ever has, her hair loose down her back, her fingers drumming against the stem of her water glass. 

Mamoru is quiet, but not unpleasantly so. They’ve made small talk, families and school and favorite subjects and least – she knows so much of him, and he asks much of her; it makes her realize how little he knows of her. It’s a strange dichotomy; he wears the mask, and yet peeled so much of himself apart for her so quickly. 

“I’m terrible in math,” she says, after a too-long story about her brother’s genius IQ that he wastes on video games, and how her parents are left with two children that never seem to live up to expectations on the surface. “But I like to read.”

“Math, huh?” he teases. 

She wrinkles her nose and pops a cucumber roll in her mouth, chewing slowly. Her chopsticks are smooth between her fingers. “Does anyone really _like_ math, though?”

“I do,” he says immediately. 

“I’m not surprised,” she says with a sigh. She thinks of Ami, and the girls; there is the creeping sensation of guilt now, just at the edges of the night. What would her friends think of her, here with a man they do not know?

_But I know him_ , she thinks as she meets his eyes and smiles. 

“Do you ever feel too young for all this?” she asks after a moment. It’s a simple question, to broach the larger world encompassing them; she asks it of herself all the time, but never the girls. She cannot be weak for them. 

Mamoru tilts his head, watching her. He looks much older in the candlelight, older than nights before, when he was a scared boy without a mask. “All the time,” he says, and sounds so seventeen in that moment that her mouth turns, and she can’t help but reach out, touch his wrist. 

“I’m glad we’re in this together,” she says impulsively, the flush heavy on her throat. 

His eyes drop to her mouth and back. She swallows a sigh. “I didn’t mean it like – I heard you, last night,” she adds quickly. “You want your memories back – and I know it’s not the same thing, what we’re doing. But – I just –“

“Usako,” he says, and the endearment curls right through to her bones. His hand turns and their palms touch. His fingers turn into the curve of her wrist. “I want to protect you.”

She can taste it, something familiar in his words. “Why?” she asks, curious and soft. His hand is warm under hers. 

He smiles slightly, eyes darkening. “Because I know you’re important. And - you – “

Leaning in, she bites the inside of her cheek. “And what?” she murmurs, a sinking sensation in her stomach. She doesn’t want this to be about the world or humanity, as much as she cares, cares too much; she wants this to be about _them._

“You’re bright,” he says at last. There is color high on his cheeks, and she finds it endearing. “You are the brightest part of my day. You have been, even since the first time, when you threw your test at me.”

“That was an accident,” she breathes, her chest tight.

He grins and her blood warms, almost melts. “You are what I was curious for, even against my own logic. You are what I want to keep safe. Anything else is a plus.”

She knows she should think it’s too soon, too fast. She knows she should talk to the girls. 

But she sits up and leans in to kiss his cheek, and his fingers flinch and tighten at her wrist.

She wants this. Selfishly, it’s all she wants in this moment. Some days, she feels old; tonight, she is young enough to believe in this. 

 

*

 

It’s a Friday night, the first night in weeks where she isn’t fighting for her life against the stuff of nightmares, bleeding and scarred. The breeze sweeps between them as they walk to where he is parked, her hand loose and soft in his. 

Mamoru stops as they near the motorcycle, his mouth turning. 

“Oh no,” she says before she can stop herself. 

“What?” he asks, brow furrowing. 

“I just – “ she sighs. “I can hear how loud you’re thinking.”

He laughs then, low and soft; her toes curl in her shoes. “I’m not used to this,” he says sheepishly. 

_And she is?_ she thinks. But there has always been love and openness in her life, whereas she understands the lack in his. It is natural to smile, to curl her fingers into his, to lean into his side; she feels his instinct to follow her lead, but he’s still – he’s still scared. 

So, she keeps his hand in hers and leans against the seat of the motorcycle. Her skirt lays flush at the tops of her knees. He moves towards her, the warmth of him right there against her skin. His knee slips between both of hers and her hands come up to his chest as she tilts her head up. 

“It’s going to be strange,” she says quietly, still smiling. “And hard.”

“I’m ready,” he says seriously, mouth set. 

There’s a tickle of a premonition at the back of her mind, the rise of hair on the nape of her neck. She cannot escape the sensation of being watched, of falling into predetermined footsteps. 

But she tilts her mouth up and he’s waiting, watching her with dark eyes that she remembers even in her sleep. The breath catches in her throat and she _knows_ – this is what she’s been waiting for. 

“I won’t let you down,” he says before he kisses her. 

She shuts her eyes, his mouth soft and warm against hers. His words echo in her mouth and in her bones, and she thinks _oh, I have heard him say it before_. There is his hand on her waist, the other tangled in her hair, and she kisses him back, kisses him until there isn’t any breath in her lungs, just the echoes of a past she doesn’t know, and the warmth of him in the here and now. 

_Endymion_ whispers itself across her mind, but she pays it no mind. 

 

*

 

It’s late enough when he brings her home. His eyes are bright in the starlight and he’s smiling so much that it takes her breath. He is always so poised, so intense, so serious; she wants to give him joy. 

He helps her off the motorcycle, a block away from her house. The lights are still on in the living room and she touches her mouth, watching him as she slips the helmet from her head, shakes out her hair. Does she look kissed, mussed? Her experience is limited, and her mother must know – but her father, oh _god_ – 

His hand touches the loose fall of her hair, cupping at the waist. “It’s nice, down like this,” he murmurs. 

Usagi tips her head back and breathes out, smiling. “It’s heavy,” she murmurs. 

Mamoru watches her for a quiet moment before he leans down and kisses her. It’s chaste and easy; the feel of his mouth is familiar now. She closes her eyes and touches the line of his jaw, the slight rise of a scar whose story she doesn’t know yet. 

“I want to see you again,” he says against her lips. 

She opens her eyes and nods. “Yes,” she breathes. 

“Outside of blood and battles and fainting,” he adds. 

“But there too, I guess,” she says with a laugh. 

He touches her throat, her cheek. Her skin warms under his. “Sunday?”

She nods, stretches up on her toes to kiss him again. “Sunday,” she murmurs, and that’s that. 

The walk into the house is effortless. She still feels warm, peeled open and soft; the memory of his mouth and eyes on her will not fade. Her mother, in the living room reading, looks at her and merely smiles. Luna paces in her room, meowing and screeching about the hour, the lateness, the lack of note; Usagi hums and changes into loose pajamas, brushing out her hair and ignoring the cat. Her lips are red and the locket comes out of her purse, to rest at her pillow as she sleeps. 

For the first time in a long time, she feels as old and as young as she truly is.

 

*

 

That night, she dreams. 

Everything is cast in silver, like mist; but there is nothing vague about the story, the memories. She sees herself, a past life only hinted at, a princess sheltered but strong, longing. There is a prince, sharp and taut and smart, a warrior and a man. There are streams of meetings and memories, stolen moments and small glances. Her friends – her girls are there, surrounding her, training her, keeping her safe; they worry, and Venus is always there, a hand on her shoulder or elbow. She carries a sword in her hand and the power of the universe in her heart, but there is room for him – there always is. 

She feels the betrayal and the darkness of the earth as if it is her own flesh and blood. The darkness grows and blooms on her beloved moon and he is there, battle-worn and alone, to help her – to die with her. His men have left him, defected in a strange unexpected sort of seduction – she feels her guardians in their grief, but they take up the arms against their compatriots willingly, for her. 

She watches the sword cut across his chest, and knows she is lost. Her friends are dead. 

It is the sword in her belly that wakes her.

 

*

 

Dawn is just breaking when Usagi wakes, sweat-drenched and eyes red. The fingers of one hand are curled around the locket, a broken trinket from a broken life. 

Luna watches her from the end of the bed, eyes wide and waiting. 

“It’s _me_ ,” Usagi breathes, her throat hoarse. She is the _princess_ –

“I didn’t know,” is all Luna says in return, mouth turned down sadly – if a cat’s mouth can be so. 

There’s a burn in her chest, and all she can think is _Mamoru – Endymion_. Her mouth turns and she peels the sheets away, stumbling to her feet. There’s a swirl of memory and mist clawing for room in the present day of her mind; she moves to the closet. The locket stays in her hand. There is something hot swelling in her middle, a power she cannot touch, not yet.

“There is a fifth senshi to find,” she says at last, leaning against her closet door. She sounds – different. Taller, older; what she imagines a princess is. “The one you said was the princess. Venus.”

Luna doesn’t speak for a long moment, as Usagi dresses and pulls her hair up haphazardly. 

“Will we find her soon?” she asks, breath catching in her throat. 

“I hope so,” Luna says. 

Usagi leaves, the clock ticking to six in the morning. The locket imprints into her palm with her grip. 

 

*

 

They meet halfway between her house and his apartment, and she cannot help but laugh. Still idiots, still searching for each other, after thousands of years; her eyes burn and she wants to scream, wants to take back the night’s sleep so they can just be Usagi and Mamoru alone again. 

Mamoru looks as well as she feels; his hand goes to his chest, to the invisible wound from millennia ago. The early morning light is soft on the lines of his face. 

“Tell me you didn’t know,” she asks, almost desperate. 

His hands reach for hers and pull her into the cradle of his chest and arms. “I didn’t – I didn’t –“ he breathes, too harsh and hard. His mouth is near her ear. 

She shuts her eyes and curls her fingers into the loose fall of his t-shirt, cool between their hot skins. All sorts of words and litanies and memories rest on her tongue, but she breathes in the scent of him, leather and pine and spice; like the planet he once ruled, and lost. She settles here, in his arms.

“What now?” she asks at last. 

His arms tighten around her, his hands flat on her back. He is warm and solid and here under her hands, and she is grateful, again, for her words from last night; they are in this together. 

“They’ll come for us,” he says softly, but with strength. “We’ll be ready.”

In the soft spring light, she tips her head back and kisses him, because they have missed so much, and lost enough time. A warmth breaks between them, and she feels it, the heat in her chest, the power hidden so long. 

Mamoru kisses her, his hands secure and steady on her back, and she is certain only of him. 

 

*

 

It all snowballs into something beyond her imagination, after that. 

She takes him to the temple and Rei, Ami, and Makoto are all there, dazed, waiting. Memories of a past none of them understand spill from their lips and Usagi is buoyed by it all, by their strength and their dedication, their love. She feels the absence of their fifth keenly; it’s a strange sensation, the memories of the past and now fighting for space. 

It will settle, Luna says, still shell-shocked. It will settle, and until then, they will fight through it. 

Two nights later, it is just her and Mamoru, in fuku and disguise, bleeding and injured. Zoicite – that is his name, Usagi thinks, spitting blood from her mouth as she drags herself to her feet – has them cornered on the roof of a television studio near the Tokyo Tower, and Kunzite, the leader, is engaged with the other senshi. 

“If there was ever a time for her to show up,” she mutters, her hands pulling Mamoru out of harm’s way. Venus has always liked making an entrance, though. 

“These are my _men_ ,” he growls, eyes dark behind the mask. Blood stains the white of his shirt, a gash opening at his collarbone. His anger radiates and reverberates inside of her; she feels his betrayal as keenly as they did thousands of years ago.

“They’re shades of those men,” she says, shaking her head. Her fingers burn, the wand hot to the touch. Zoicite is laughing and she remembers hearing pleasure in it once upon a time. The locket swings at her hip, a keepsake. 

There is another blast of energy at their feet, and Mamoru envelopes her in his cape and takes a running start off the roof. Her arms link around his neck, on instinct. “Change the state of play,” he murmurs in her ear between the wind and the blood thudding in at her temples.

The tower is high, higher than she’s ever been. The generals are following, the Senshi at their heels. Usagi palms down the hem of her skirt and lands steadily on her feet. Impulsively, she leans up and kisses him, the metallic tang of blood heavy on their tongues. His hands press at the small of her back, holding her too close for a brief moment. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” she breathes near his mouth. She hears the shouts, the coming of the battle again; the ozone is heavy in the air. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he says steadily, blood lingering at the corner of his mouth. 

“Going to do that anytime soon?” Makoto hollers as she and the other senshi join them, breathing heavily. Ami is tapping away on her computer, sweat heavy on her brow; Rei spreads out, murmuring incantations, a protection spell. 

Usagi slides her hand across her brow and pushes her bang off her forehead. “I’m trying,” she says shortly. 

“There is a distinct increase in your combined energy output,” Ami murmurs. “Nearly off the charts.”

Mamoru grazes his hand over her spine and moves away with Makoto, to push back against the generals’ new offensive. Usagi presses a hand to her sternum, where she can feel the heat rising, and shuts her eyes. 

_What are you waiting for?_ she asks. 

She doesn’t have to wait long for an answer. 

There is a shout, and she opens her eyes to see Mamoru fall off the edge of the tower’s platform. She sees the tight grip of his gloved hand at the edge and she moves, on instinct, out of the protection incantation and to him. The girls shout but she cannot stop, and she slips over the edge, past curses and sharp words, just as he does. 

They fall together, as they always have. 

His arm wraps at her waist and they both grab for the nearest edge. Together they hang off the tower in the night air, clutching at each other. Her hand finds the curve of his jaw and she curls around him and kisses him, heedless of the precarious position. Some things are more important. 

“Not again,” she breathes at his mouth, and his hand bites into the bruised skin of her ribs, her waist. 

“Not again,” he repeats, eyes dark. The mask has fallen off, lost to the wind. 

Above them, there is a bright golden light, and a shout of surprise. Usagi smiles slightly. 

“She’s here,” she says. 

Mamoru pulls them onto steadier ground. The sweat and blood slips down his throat with exertion. “Let’s go.”

And up they go, together. 

 

*

 

The generals retreat, with the appearance of Sailor Venus. 

She is just as Usagi imagined, both princess and girl; tall and blonde and beautiful, power edging her eyes. In fact, bloody and bruised as she is now, Usagi feels almost cowed in her presence. There is a girlish pleasure to seeing Sailor V, her long-ago idol; but now, with memories of lifetimes and death etched on her mind and Mamoru and her Senshi at her side, there is a different sort of strength straightening her spine now. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Venus says with a smile, twisting her chain around her fingertips. The white slip of a cat at her ankles looks at them all silently. 

“Better late than never,” Makoto murmurs, hand pressed to her shoulder, covering an oozing wound. 

Mamoru takes a moment to move to the other girls, to heal their wounds – a power released with the seal on their memories. His hand grazes Usagi’s hip before he goes, and she looks after him for a moment, smiling. 

“You’ve found each other faster than we thought,” Venus says softly. 

“I didn’t realize there was a master plan,” Usagi murmurs, not coldly; just curious. 

In a flash, Venus powers down; suddenly she is just a girl, as the rest of them are. “Minako,” she says, holding out her hand. It’s all supremely formal, and it itches Usagi the wrong way. 

Usagi moves forward and wraps Minako in a tight hug, as she would any of them. The other girl stiffens just for a moment, and then relaxes into the embrace. “We missed you,” Usagi murmurs, and it’s true. With the five of them here, even for the brief moments now, she feels a sense of completion, of true unity. 

Minako squeezes back. “I’m sorry,” she whispers near her ear. 

For what, Usagi isn’t sure. 

 

*

 

This is the first night she stays at Mamoru’s apartment. 

They went there from the Tokyo Tower, the six of them; it was closest, they reasoned, and he had medical supplies that would not be missed. He patched them all up as Minako spoke briefly of her time as Sailor V, of coming to Tokyo at last to search for them, as Luna and Artemis spoke of crystals and battles to come. Usagi just shut her eyes and leans back against the sofa. She feels Mamoru’s gaze on her the entire time.

At last, the girls departed with the cats, leaving Usagi and Mamoru alone for the first time in days, it seemed to her. In the hallway, the girls hug her, keeping her close; now, in the emptiness of his stoic apartment, she curls over him as he sits on the sofa, touching scars and singed fingertips. 

“You’ve done too much tonight,” she says, straddling his lap and pulling his hands towards her. 

He sighs and opens his eyes. “I have to do what I can. I have no real power, not like you all do.”

“Don’t say that,” she murmurs, touching the red tips of his fingers. “Without you, I would be nothing.”

“You have the girls,” he says softly, eyes bright in the moonless dark. 

“They are my rocks,” she says, easily enough. Even Minako, though it’s only been hours, is as much a part of her as the other three girls, and she knows they feel the same. “But you – without you, I wouldn’t be here now.”

He reaches up, framing her face in his hand. His fingertips trace a bruise, a new scar; dark hair falls across his brow. “I won’t lose you, Usako,” he says softly. 

Leaning down, she kisses him, soft and slow and tender. Their muscles protest, but they stretch out together on the long sofa, her hair spilling around them, their hands cool on bare skin. There is a heat in her chest waiting, waiting to bloom; _come to me_ , she thinks as his mouth trails along her throat and his hands gather in her hair, gestures borne out of instinct and long-lost memory. Muscle memory serves them well, but she is still a girl, still blushes.

He blushes, too. She thinks the prince would never, or never let a princess see him so.

“I won’t lose you, either,” she says into the darkness, her hands curled and linked into his. His mouth moves against her brow, a smile marking her damp skin.

_I won’t lose any of you_. 

 

*

 

One day, the crystal will come. The battle will arrive, and they will fight, all of them. 

What matters most to her, is that the past does not repeat. 

When Mamoru kisses her, she knows he feels the same way. 

 

*


End file.
